


The Lesser Of Two Evils

by nevermoreflesh



Series: TCC [2]
Category: Historical Criminals RPF, Historical RPF, True Crime Community, tcc - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Attempted Kidnapping, Attempted Sexual Assault, Historical Figures, Jonestown, Other, Religious Cults, Serial Killers, True Crime, tcc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-24 00:40:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18159161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevermoreflesh/pseuds/nevermoreflesh
Summary: The reader learns the truth about a man she thinks she can trust, and learns to trust a man who doesn’t tell the truth. An AU that follows a regular timeline of true crime events.





	The Lesser Of Two Evils

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of people want part two of my Dahmer/Bundy work, which I promise is coming! I was pretty unhappy with my first draft so I'm revising it now. 
> 
> So take this weird thing I wrote? I'm interested in cult leaders, particularly Jim Jones, but he's not really favored in the TCC. 
> 
>  
> 
> Non-condoning as usual. I definitely try not to include healthy romances with horrible real-life psychopathic men.

1973, California. 

 

A charismatic preacher was what he was. You could describe him using his notable features- jet black hair, a stern walk, dazzling eyes that were hidden by shades frequently- but at the end of a day, he wore his suits and robes to preach about our lord and saviour. You had no idea what he did outside of sermons- after all, you had just joined after his congregation moved to California. He was slightly older than the new crowd of college students he attracted, but also much younger than his crowd of elderly members. It wasn’t a surprise that he had collected such a varied crowd of worshippers- he was more intoxicating than anyone you ever heard before. Religion didn’t matter, and you could’ve listened to Jim Jones preach about used cars for hours on end just to hear his voice. His mannerisms were something else as well, he oozed sex from the way he held his arms up high, smiling at all his fellow followers. You liked him straight from the get go- though there was rumours he slept around and had mistresses even as a husband and father. Despite his polished exterior, there was something messy about him, although you couldn’t seem to put your finger on exactly what it was. 

It was hot- standing outside the temple, you noticed that very few people had arrived for service. It was strange- in Los Angeles on a Sunday, it was a madhouse; people of all different races swarming to see the white preacher that spoke about equality and justice for all. But now it was just you and two elderly women waiting for the doors to open. You checked your watch. 

9:00 am. What’s going on? You could’ve sworn it was open today. 

Sighing, you could hear the two women behind you grumble and retreat back to their cars. In the corner of your eye you saw something you recognized- Father Jones’ car, parked right near the front of the church. Was he here right now? The church must’ve been closed today for repairs or cleaning- it was the only explanation you could think of, since Jim usually kept a tight schedule for his Sunday Service. Maybe the service started later and that’s why he was here- but it was strange that know one showed up yet apart from two people. Explanations ran through your mind, but ignoring limitless possibilities, you walked through the gates and up the steps to the three sets of doors under the arches of the church. Peering inside, it was dead- no lights were turned on, and even the podium and seats looked dusty, as if they hadn’t been touched for years. It seemed like there was really nobody here except you- and perhaps that car wasn’t the preacher’s, but rather a similar model. The sun grew hotter as you walked back out, and even with the palm trees supplying some shade, you began to feel heated already. The car was still there; and circling around to check the license plate, the numbers and letters were definitely something you recognized. You were focused on the mystery when a familiar voice rang out in front of you. 

“I thought I said service was off for today”.

Father Jones stood there in the heavy heat, dark hair shining from a combination of sweat and hair gel. He wore his robe unbuttoned and draped on his shoulders, revealing a plain white t-shirt with a cross underneath his regular sermon clothes, along with the sunglasses that never seemed to disappear from his face. A defeated expression was painted on his face. 

“Well actually, I didn’t see that you were-” You began, before he cut you off.

“Doesn’t matter” Jim looked down and shook his head. He glanced back. “I want to speak with you”. 

Motioning you by the hand, you followed Jim to the back of the church, where he opened the gates, and led you inside the door to a hallway. You didn’t recognize this place before- you had only seen the front hall and the actual church, but never the back rooms or his office. He didn’t speak or even look back at you- you thought he must be angry at you, but he seemed to be struggling internally with something else. Before Jim reached the end of the hallway, he paused. 

“I want you to listen to me” his sunglasses shone as he rotated his head back to look over his shoulders. “This is nothing personal between us. I already have a woman I’m seeing. I just want you to-” He swallowed. “Relieve me of a rage.” 

The door turned open; a breeze rolled in, a light refresher from the west coast heat. Inside was an office that was darkened and cold. Jim strutted in and sat down on a couch in the middle of the room. On the left side was a desk littered with papers (a far cry from the highly organized man he presented himself as) and a bookshelf that was strangely empty. The small space of the office was closed in by red curtains which seemed to obscure the sunlight, and you wondered how the breeze came in. A large carpet was situated on the hardwood floor. Joining him on the couch, he loosened up and comfortably laid back, putting his arms on the back of the sofa. You noticed how heavy Jim was breathing, but he seemed less distraught. 

“Did you need me, father?” You spoke lightly, carefully treading on your words. “I apologize about being here when I should’ve just-”

“It’s fine” He cut you off again, avoiding eye-contact . “I guess you didn’t get the memo”. 

Smoothing back his hair, he slowly began to steady his breath. A few glances were exchanged, but he looked back again towards his messy desk. 

“But it doesn’t matter. I already told you what I want from you” 

“Well you haven’t exactly told me yet-”

You stopped as he stood up and began to pace the room, throwing the robe from his shoulders onto his disaster of a desk. Now you could see in the sunlight that peered through the curtains illuminate on his body, the sweat drenched shirt showing the outline of a hairless chest below. You could see him pulsating now, and deciding whether not to remove his sunglasses, as he fiddled with them. His hair looked so black it appeared blue. 

“You need to help me” he spoke frantically, with a slowly developing lisp. “I’m not sure what to do. All these fuckers are spreading shit that only belongs in the church and within my circle-”

Hesitantly, you interrupted. “W-who are you talking about father?” 

“Former comrades” He glared out the window. “Traitors”.

Jim turned back towards you and stared right past at the wall. His voice continued to become more stern. 

“Grab your things” he spoke as he threw back on his robe and quickly slicked back his hair. Approaching you, you could see his dark eyes become black orbs behind the tinted sunglasses. 

They were stricken with both fear and rage. 

Nervously grabbing a sunhat you took off when you sat down on the couch, you followed him back through the path from which you came into the church from. Walking in the heat was unbearable- if he wasn’t your pastor, you would’ve ditched him already for some lemonade at home. It sounded a lot better than whatever Jim wanted you to do. 

Both of you approached the parking lot, and with keys in hand, he unlocked his seemingly always clean car (you can’t remember when it ever had a speck of dirt on it) and let you help yourself into the passenger side, instead of opening the door like he usually did- whatever he was anxious about, it was serious. You’ve never seen him this crazed before.

Entering the car, Jim sat down and blankly stared at the steering wheel, sunglasses ever present on his face. You hesitantly raised your voice again, trying to gain his attraction but not upset father. 

“Father, I know that you’re going through a lot of things right now- I mean with you and Marceline-” 

Angrily, Jim cut you off seconds into your sentence, flinging his head to the side to stare at you, the same wide eyed crazed look that you noticed he had in the temple; but this time, clearly directed towards you.  
“Listen here, friend-”  
Suddenly pausing for a moment, Jim gulped and turned his head back to the steering wheel, hands trembling. Continuing to stare down, he took off his sunglasses. 

“L-Listen” his voice rapidly dropped in tone and volume. You could see the corners of his eyes looking bloodshot and purple craters developing underneath them. 

“It’s fine. It’s all fine. Marceline and I are fine. It was never about our relationship- the congregation I mean- but I can’t stand these parasites”. Raising his voice, his eyes widened as he started the car. You fidgeted in your seat and began to avoid eye contact with him. 

“All of them- vile fucking cretins. Capitalists. They never cared about socialist change or revolution! Just a cookie cutter fucking church service they could attend on sunday to look good on their job application. These rich whites never get it” he muttered and pulled the car in reverse out of the parking lot. Jim’s coal black eyes danced around the interior of the car. 

He swallowed again. “And they’re gonna get it. Today at least”

At this point, you wanted to jump out of the car. But you didn’t, letting him continue to rave and lose his mind, too fearful to ask where he was taking you. Soon enough, he let out a clue, as he headed for the highway and past the exit for his home route. 

“Do you know the Graces?” Jim asked, as he slowed his voice down and made a left turn past a stop sign. “The ones that came with the young blonde girls?”

“Yes, I think so”. 

You remembered them. Allan Grace and Rosa Grace were a wealthy couple with two daughters that owned a farm outside Redwood Valley and far into the countryside of California. Always quiet guests in services, they stood out being freshly married and obviously wealthy in the toned back environment of Peoples Temple. They rarely spoke to anyone else, and never seemed to join in on anything other than attending sunday services. Both them and their daughters seemed to disappear into the background. 

“Well, let me tell you this” He rolled down the window to spit, and you could hear him speed up the car. “Would you believe me- if I told you that they left us, because I made the goddamn mistake of speaking to his wife? Jim’s voice became spiteful again. “Conservatives. Can’t even compliment their women- or should I say property”.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you feel like Jim gave Mr. Grace’s wife more than a simple few words. The car rattled as he made a short turn off the highway onto a dirt road. You glanced at the driver’s side and noticed the gas tank’s hand slowly turning to the left. 

“Father- Do you think we should stop for gas? There’s probably a station up ahead”.

He threw back his head and reached for his glasses he placed on the dashboard. Placing them back on his face, he turned his head back towards the passenger side. 

 

“It’ll only be a few minutes. You can stay in the car”. 

Jim continued to drive. But soon enough, he began to park off the edge of the road onto the dirt. You looked around. To the right of the car was a pathway enclosed with a small fence, suggesting that it led to someone’s property. Weeds grew around the area, and a thick bush of trees disguised exactly where it led. Without another word, Father huffed and smoothed his hair into place before leaving the car, and like the path, disappearing into the unknown. 

 

He wasn’t gone for a few minutes. More like a few hours. At some point you attempted your way out of the car, only to be reminded of Father’s crazed eyes and harsh voice threatening revenge on the Graces. You stayed put, nervously toying with the hem of your dress and peering out the windows, watching cars and motorcycles speed past. Eventually, as night fell and the sun came down, the vehicles decreased, and soon enough only so many came through as compared to before. Time began to slow, and before you knew it, you passed out in the passenger seat, leaning your head against the glass as the night grew colder. 

You weren’t sure what woke you up. Maybe it was the shuffling of dirt outside or some sort of message from the gods about the aforementioned abrasion behind the car door. Listening, you bent your head down to obscure any sign of you being in the front seat of the car. You continued to hear the shuffling and nearby footsteps, but you were unsure if it was Jim or someone else. Did he get arrested, or did he just decide to stay at the Graces? Both were unlikely possibility, since you would’ve heard police sirens or some kind of cop speaking. The latter possibility seemed incomprehensible, since it was certain that Jim would never leave you in a hot car on a sunny day. Even if he did, he would’ve been already back right now. Perking your head up, you looked to check if Jim had in fact returned this late at night. Something caught your eye, and cautiously raising your line of vision, you saw a figure stand a few feet away from you. At first you thought it was Jim, but the shadow seemed taller and more wiry, as opposed to Jim’s medium height and well-built stature. It moved back and forth in front of the car, and keeping your head down, you flicked your eyes upwards to continue to watch it pace around. A light from a passing vehicle illuminated the side of the road, and you caught a glimpse of the mysterious stranger. Like Jim, he was male and dark haired, and although white, was much paler than the reverend. You made out his dark clothes in the lack of brightness, although you couldn’t be certain what he was exactly wearing. Ducking down, you whispered under your breath, Fuck, was this guy gonna be here forever? 

What did he want exactly? If he saw you, of course he would’ve already taken the chance and probably raped you, maybe even murder you. If he wanted to rob the car, he wouldn’t be pacing in front of it, seeming to be waiting for someone to arrive. Even if the stranger needed help or gas, there was a station up ahead that would be more than willing to supply what he needed. There seemed to be no car he came from though, although you couldn’t be certain if he parked behind Jim’s car. You waited in silence, shaking in both fear and the temperature decrease in the air. 

The stranger’s footsteps began to sound closer, until you knew that he stood behind the passenger door. Although you were separated by a thin slice of metal, you were certain that you could feel him breathing down your neck, either psychologically or physically. There was only the noise of crickets and distant cars, as you knew he stared down from above, watching you through the window. 

Then, a sound came. A small tune of a turning key, coming from outside the door you sat behind. It would’ve been a smart idea to start screaming- but it was useless. No one would’ve heard you, and you wouldn’t even be noticed since the car was parked parallel to the road and your seat was on the right side. There was nothing to do, but sit and wait until the intruder grabbed you, and hopefully squirm your way out of his grasp. Or even, better yet, be saved by the man who brought you there. But that was hopeless optimism, and like most things, you probably needed to rely on yourself. Laying your head against the glovebox, you waited for the inevitable fate. 

The door opened. The stranger stood there, masked in darkness and standing above you, looking down at what he likely considered his prey. He wavered. You didn’t say anything, not even a whisper, as you studied the predator. He donned a grey color palette in slacks and a blazer, but a black turtleneck. His hair was coiffed and wavy, lighter and less sleek than Jim’s, in a chocolate shade. His eyes seemed to shine in the darkness, baby blue and full of malice. There was nothing about this man that was familiar- other than the taste of death that bloomed in the air, a fate you had escaped so many times before. But not now. The stranger dropped whatever he held in his hand. Bending down, you shifted as you both met closer, face to face. He smelt like cigarettes and cheap cologne, so different from Jim’s scent of brylcreem and english leather. 

“Hello there honey” His flickering eyes danced around your body. “Aren’t you a pretty thing?”

Something snapped into your instincts to defend yourself, but as quickly as your thought has arrived, the stranger grabbed your wrists and pinned them overhead against the dashboard. 

“Shhhhhhh” he purred. His smell was stronger now, even suffocating. He smiled hypnotically. 

“Play nice now, baby”. 

You complied, slowly nodding your head. The man loosened his grip on your wrists, and you thought he seemed to mellow, even shrink, in deviousness. He stood up- It’s over now, the optimistic thought whispered in your mind.  
It was, until he grabbed you by the hair, taking fistfulls of brunette locks, and dragging you out from the safety of the car, screaming. 

Rolling around on the dirt, you attempted to get up on your knees and run, heading towards the safety of passing cars on the road. But the predator caught you, pinning you down on your stomach and pressing his knee into your back, as he regained control of clutching your shoulder length curls in a ponytail. You felt your face hit the dirt, with a hard slap that was sure to leave a bruise, as he held you down by sitting down on your lower back. Although he seemed thin, his weight and pressure completely obliterated any type of escape you hoped to make. You felt the man’s thin fingers linger and swirl among your inner thigh, and the pressure from his tight pants as he dug his erection deeper into your back. You wanted to whine, scream- but you were obscured from any type of human help. 

That is, unless, Jim came back. Although the intruder holding you down seemed to knock the air out of you, you used your last dying breaths to scream out Father’s name, in the unlikely hope he would hear you. It ran through your mind how useless it all was- but maybe in the stroke of luck, he would reappear. 

The man released pressure, but as attempting to wriggle your way out, he grabbed you by the skirt of your sundress and flipped you over onto your back, securing his place again by sitting on your waist. The placement of where he sat dug into your hipbones, and you cried out in pain as he grew heavier in pressure by sitting all the way down. Your hands were above your head again, in the same manner he did with the dashboard in the car. 

“Calling out for your boyfriend?” He laughed, and bent his head down to kiss your forehead. 

“You’re a smart girl. Lots of girls I’ve met don’t even try to fight. But man, you’re a tough one”. 

You stared up at him blankly. His eyes were mad, and wrinkles circled around every corner of his facial features. He looked to be around Jim’s age, or late 30’s. 

The man came closer, lowering his chest as he held your wrists above your head, stretching his wispy body out so you could feel his erection through his pants again, and smell the detergent used on his clothing. His face arrived against yours, and tilting his head, he softly ran his shaved face against your cheeks. 

Mouth opening, he dragged his tongue against your face, starting at the edge of the chin, leading it all the way up to your forehead. His breath was hot and sticky, leaving a wet trail of saliva dominating the right side of your face. 

“Such a pretty girl... “ he cooed. “It’s lucky that you’re so feisty, I need to keep you up for longer” 

A flicker of light appeared in the distance. It wasn’t noticeable at first- the man who continued to leave bitemarks all around your neck didn’t even flinch. But you stared at it from the gate of the home your reverend disappeared into, hoping some sort of out of body experience would detach you from whatever you were about to endure from this stranger. The light grew closer, a calling came from the brightness- a male voice, a medium sized husky shadow approaching in the moonlight. A name was called, wringing only so loud that you could hear it. Jim. 

Praise Jesus. 

You screamed his name as you could hear him approaching, yelling back yours in unison. The man stopped his assault, fear in his eyes as he craned his neck backwards to see an overweight man in a blood soaked robe who dropped his flashlight. Eyes wide open he ran towards the stranger, dried blood staining his face and dark, round features. He tackled the man to the dirt floor, dragging him by his turtleneck collar to pin him against the outside of the backseat door. It wasn’t until Jim was this close to you, that you could see how much blood was covering him, the extent of whatever he had done. You propped yourself up with your hands, slowly backing yourself away from both men. You were terrified of both- the attacker, and the siren of a man who was colored crimson. 

“Let me go bitch!” The stranger spat, fidgeting by moving his legs back and forth, heels of his shoes digging in the dirt. 

“You think this is a joke, young man? Hm? Going around assaulting girls just because you can?” Jim shouted, grabbing the stranger tighter around the neck. Where Jim dropped the flashlight, you could see it cast light upon whatever the man who assaulted you was originally holding. A crowbar. 

“Give me a break, old man. A fat fuck like you takes whatever he can get”. With that, Jim pummeled the brunette stranger to the dirt again. 

Grappling yourself upwards, you ran towards Jim and grabbed the hem of his upper robe, restraining him with as much effort as you possibly could muster to hold back a 200 pound grown man. 

“Stop it! Stop!” You screamed, attempting to grab more of his clothing to pull him back. The stranger looked at you with the same deranged expression as he always did. 

Jim’s head flicked back with fury, and you could see the dark holes in his eyes, and the salty smell of blood lingering across his body. He looked more like animal than man. The man you called “Father” and the intruder who tried to ravage your body seemed to merge into the same subconscious male predator. 

His voice was low, dilated from the raised volume he used to speak to the stranger.  
“You’re a fucking whore. Did you want this man to violate you, child?” 

“Father-” You began. 

Gripping you by the shoulders, he came in closer. “I didn’t ask you to speak yet.” His thick hands pulled up the strap of your dress, covering up the small area of the chest you bared. 

“You don’t interrupt when men are settling their differences”. 

Something ignited anger in you like never before as soon as those words came out of Jim’s mouth. The man you knew who stood for equality and who spoke about women in only a positive way- the image he created was shattered right in front you. Throwing his hands off you, you temptatively walked backwards from him, shoulder blades scraping against the leaves behind you. You realized that as the cars disappeared from the road- there was nothing you could do to stop either of them. Looking down, your tennis shoes looked sturdy enough to let you run easily, and your dress which just hit the knees, could be easily maneuvered. There was a chance- a small chance- that you could run up the gas station up ahead. 

But something stopped you from running. Fear, maybe. Or maybe the fact that there was two feral grown men ready to stop you at any moment from leaving. 

“Father” you called to Jim, as he continued to stand above the stranger. His head slowly turned towards the soft voice you spoke to him in. 

“What is it?”

You took a gulp. “You’re a real piece of shit”. 

His face straightened. His lips pursed. All though he looked less venomous than before, it was no secret inside he was burning with rage with a temperature hotter than hell. 

“I am, am I?” Jim raised a dark eyebrow, forming creases in his forehead. The preacher’s neck cocked to the side. “I suppose you wouldn’t mind me leaving you here then, child?”. 

You knew he was testing you with this question, like he did so often with members of his congregation. The man was soaking in blood, likely in the defector’s he came to visit blood, there was no possible way he would attempt to leave you even if there wasn’t a rapist in the mix. The stranger’s husky breathing was noticeable from where you stood. For some reason, you wondered if he was terrified by Jim. 

“Just don’t kill him. You already look to have enough blood on your hands”. 

Jim took off his bloodstained robe, tossing it on the hood of his car. The white shirt glowed in the darkness, and you wondered how late it was, how much time you had missed. His stomach peaked out from underneath, and you could tell he had gained weight in the recent months. 

“I didn’t kill them” he sighed. You were unknown if he was telling the truth or not. The stranger sat compliantly on the floor still, eyes bright in the dark, similar to that of a feline. There was a wondering if this man was somehow possessed or knew the best idea was to wait for permission to pounce again. 

“I killed their dog. It took a long time for me to, um-” Jim paused. “Do that. I haven’t done that since I was a child. A stupid child”. 

“Never did that when I was a child” a raspy voice sounded in the dark. Jim’s head flicked back, as if he had forgotten that the man he tackled had been cornered by him against the passenger seat door. 

“It’s funny, looking back on it now”. 

The silence that erupted seemed to last a lifetime, as if all three of you recounted what had happened over the last few minutes, trying to piece together how you would handle the mess created. 

Jim spoke up. “It’s dead. I didn’t want to do it, but my temper got the best of me”. He looked back at you, trying to figure out the shocked, disgusted, and tired expressions that seemed to all occupy your face at the same time. His eyes looked more dilated than ever before, his pupils two craters in the whites of his eyes. More familiar than the stranger’s, but the same coldness and uncertainty plagued both. He spoke under his breath to you, a defeated small whisper. 

“Let me handle him”. 

This time you didn’t stop him. The stranger stood up and you could tell his thin frame was athletic and toned as compared to Jim’s large but sedentary gained body, which also possessed the flaw of being a few inches shorter than the lighter-haired man. You watched the man hit Father- hard, across the face, with a closed fist belonging to a hand that was slim but muscular. Although he cultivated more mass, whatever the stranger did for exercise and self-defense was far superior than Jim’s false macho-tough guy image. You watched hit after hit, the stranger completely obliterating any type of attack Jim attempted to make- when he didn’t use the sheer mass of his body, the preacher was useless in any type of fight with another man. Your body seemed to disappear into the bushes, and suddenly, it seemed like a mistake that you decided not to run for cover the first time. 

The flashlight still sat there, abandoned on the ground, illuminating the weapon that the stranger had brought with him. The crowbar- you assumed that he used this to break open the car door, and threaten you into submission. Maybe it was the weapon he planned to murder you with, you couldn’t be certain. All you knew that it sat alone away from either of the brawling, violent men you had the displeasure of meeting. 

You shifted your way back towards the car, looking behind yourself to see both on the ground- the stranger on top, wrangling his hands around Jim’s throat, as Jim laid below, pushing the man’s shoulders to get him away and off his body. Quickening your pace, you bent down, picking up the heavy metal rod- it was rusty and was on its last life as it disintegrated at the edges from what you assumed was years or even decades of use. Both hands, sweaty, clamoured around the bottom of the weapon. There was a pain in your side, and your knees seemed wobbly and shaky- there was the chance you could just abandon this go home in the car. But you didn’t have the keys, Jim did. 

There was a sense of hopelessness- you watched the preacher you knew wrangle with athletic predator, who seemed to dominate a man who was kilograms heavier than him. It was pathetic really- seeing a man who you glorified as godlike become so utterly defeated, as you held the key to his escape in your hands. There was a bitter taste that collected in your mouth for both men- but, there was always the lesser of two evils, as father taught her. 

Jim. 

The crowbar swung across the man’s head perfectly- hitting him in the back of the skull, sending him toppling over to the other side of Jim’s body. You watched sweat roll down his face, rewetting the blood that had dried upon his skin. The stranger laid face down- his front body obscured from view, the blazer he wore, hoisted up to see his back pant pockets, which held a wallet. You gently slid it out, using your index and thumb to grab hold of both sides of the rectangular fabric. Opening it up, multiple credit cards and crumpled dollar bills fell out from inside, loose from any type of slot in the wallet. There seemed to be nothing held actually in place except for a driver’s license. It was too dark to make out any type of information from it, but the man in the photo seemed to match the same one who laid on the ground before you. 

Jim stood up. He looked strange without his robes and sunglasses on. A whole different man seemed to appear- his mysteriousness gone, the allure of religious seducter evaporated. You took in how miserable he looked- the doughy pudginess of his body, the trembling of his lips, the way his dark hair seemed to hang over eyes once the gel gave out. Father Jones, the enigma of a man, seemed to retire when it wasn’t church service. But James Warren Jones- the eccentric, dark eyed kid from Indiana- was always there, albeit disguised depending on the situation. If you had any conscious, you would’ve left by now- but there was a burning desire to somehow undress the man you idolized with the piercing stare of your eyes. He came closer, quietly now, and you could feel his hands wrap around your hips. You continued to look at him, wide eyed, brow furrowed, reminding yourself of how he must’ve killed that poor dog with his own hands, as he tore off the sunglasses that hid his dead, void eyes from the rest of the world. How many times had he done this- made himself look better in the face of others, by the sins other men committed. 

How many times?

His hands felt tighter now, and he was closer, leaning into you. 

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, child”.

You looked at his soft, round, face. It was so different to the stranger, who’s handsome features seemed sharp and rat-like in the heat of the moment. The man probably wasn’t even dead- knocked out maybe, but there was no use to turning him in. Neither you or Jim had a successful enough alibi for a dead dog in the middle of an upper class San Francisco area. 

“Put on your glasses” you spoke, turning your head towards the car. 

“Excuse me?”

“Put on your fucking sunglasses, father”. 

You sat in the car while Jim packed the bloody clothes in the trunk. The wallet of the stranger sat in your lap, although you tossed the flashlight in the backseat. You didn’t care to read the rest of the driver’s license. The man was Theodore Something, from Tacoma Washington. Didn’t matter, since he probably learned his lesson anyways. Although Jim spoke against taking what wasn’t yours- you decided to keep the bills anyways, and tossed the credit cards and license out onto the road. Sunlight peaked overhead the trees and valleys. Cars began to drive through again, buzzing with anticipation to a new day. 

 

And for the rest of the day, Father Jones wore his sunglasses- his dark eyes hid, tinted by shades. You never took in how good he looked with them- covered, confident. A man of empathy and truthfulness. Neither of you spoke on the way home, and after a week, you left San Francisco. 

5 years later, you saw him without his sunglasses, only this time in the newspaper as a bloated corpse who’s body laid on a pavilion in South America.


End file.
